Chapter 1
Donna Street, not quite fully awake, held her breath in sheer ecstasy as her husband's penis, warm and rigid, gently eased its smooth head between the soft lips of her pussy.
She was wet and slick inside as she always was in the mornings. Brad's first thrust would go in easily, all the way, if he held the hairy outer lips open. If he didn't, the glorious thickness of his cock would drag the outer lips partway in and he would have to withdraw and slam it in again and perhaps once more. This would hurt, but it would be a loving, thrilling pain, giving her a deeply satisfying feeling of being filled completely. Either way would be marvelous.
She kept her eyes closed and tried to hold her breathing slow and steady, forcing her eager and responsive young body to lie still, feigning sleep. She knew how much Brad loved the thought that he had surprised her, had awakened her with the deep drive of his penis.
She lay on her left side, both knees drawn up, her short nightgown well above her waist. It was her favorite position for sleep, largely because it exposed and offered her softly rounded buttocks and the hot little treasure between them to the eyes, the seeking hands and the hard prick of her husband.
She knew that she was beautiful, accepting it as a fact without ego or false modesty, glad that her husband found so much joy in her small and perfect body-and equally glad that their close friends, back in Citrus City, had also loved it.
She felt that she was the luckiest girl in the world.
And why not? Brad, so strong and handsome, so bursting with ambition, had found the chance he wanted, a chance he never would've found in a small town.
"A chance for both of us, hon," he had whispered when they were celebrating the great news in bed. "I couldn't ask for a better wife-a wife to love me, to encourage me, to go up the ladder with me!"
The job was tailor-made for him. Public relations manager for the real estate division of Bonturat Enterprises, the biggest corporation in Santa Vaca. Brad, at twenty-five, had practically been raised in a newspaper office; he had had more experience than most men twice his age. And he knew real estate, too!
Chafing at the lack of opportunity in Citrus City, he had taken a course in real estate as a possible way out of the small-town newspaper rut. and incredibly, he had just passed the State Realty Board exams and gotten his license when this big opportunity came along.
She remembered the glow on his blunt, strong, handsome face when he had rushed in, waving the letter of acceptance.
"It's more than luck, Donna," he had said seriously as he kissed the tears of happiness from her cheeks. "It's like somebody up there likes me. Likes us, I mean," he had amended.
Now, four weeks later, in their new king-size bed, in the master bedroom of their new home in Island Villas, Bonturat's latest development in north Santa Vaca County, Donna quivered as Brad's fingers, gently for all their young strength, softly pulled her crisp-haired cuntlips open.
The doll! He wanted to slide it in easy. She clenched her teeth, painfully restraining herself from pumping down and back, so much did she want to feel the heat and the stretch that his lovely tool gave her. These four weeks in a tough and demanding job, the close and sometimes stern supervision he got from Bill Derwin, Bonturat's president, had made Brad somewhat less confident than he had been at the start. She wanted him to have the small triumph of surprising her. Much as she yearned for the best of his cock against her trembling womb, she could hold still, giving him this unimportant ego-builder.
The itch in her clitoris-it had begun when she felt the first touch of his flesh on her inner lips-flowed like wet fire through every part of her. He pushed in and the fire spread. In spite of her resolve, her joyously rebellious cunt muscles made their pleasure known by a wet, fluttering caress on the tender red head of this one-eyed intruder.
And Brad, his cock happily aware that this warm, embracing sheath of wet muscle was fully awake, slammed his loins hard against his wife's firm white rump, burying his hard length all the way to its thick base.
Donna counted this as her greatest blessing.
They had others, of course. The lovely house, bigger, better, costlier than either of them had dreamed they might ever own. Balcony bedrooms overlooked its two-story living room.
It was so suggestive of great success to come, with its three-car garage, its huge combination room for dining, for entertaining.
"This is your party room, kids," Mr. Derwin had said when he handed Donna the keys. His bold eyes, flecked with yellow, like-so Donna imagined-an eagle's eyes might be, had playfully traveled up and down Donnas' nubile little body. "You have all the material here for some great parties, Brad," he had joked and Donna felt her face flush.
His generosity had made the home possible; he had given them the down payment as a bonus and had said, forcing Brad to take the commission on the sale. "Why not? You sold the house. To yourself, of course, but you sold it. And you'll need some cash for furniture."
Donna had hugged him then and there and had drawn back, suddenly frightened at the wild feel of heat she had experienced from that brief contact.
Thereafter and this contact had been four weeks ago, she was not only careful to avoid touching-or being touched by-Bill Derwin, but she did everything she could to avoid looking at him. She realized this was foolish. As a hot-blooded girl, as a willing if circumspect swinger in little Citrus City, she had enjoyed her body's responses to a number of friends. Strangers, too, in some happy cases. But this feeling was one she couldn't help-Bill Derwin frightened her!
In an emotional luxury of wifely pride and confidence, Donna made no effort to hold her orgasm. This was one of Brad's deepest joys-that he could make his wife come and come and come, controlling his own orgasm until Donna, weak with love and fulfillment, hugged him and whispered, "It's your turn now, darling... how do you want it?"
She came now with a spasmodic leap of her entire body, pumping her ass back against Brad's loins in an ecstatic urge to feel his prick bumping against the very end of her vaginal channel, the soft shock to her womb's tight-closed mouth giving her a pleasure so deep that it knotted her guts.
She felt her juices flow in hot surges, felt the sensitive skin between her thighs draw and shudder. In her burst of pleasure, she burrowed her fingers into the softly divided top of her slit, stirring new sensation in her frantically throbbing clitoris.
Tenderly, slowly, Brad withdrew, laughing softly as Donna made one involuntary push backward in a vain attempt to hold his hard cock in her drooling cunt.
With a strong hand on her ankle, he drew her right leg up, and squirming down in the bed, he let the leg drop so that he lay in the spread of her thighs, his flushed and happy face poised just above the tuft of dark, finely crinkled hair that crested above her streaming slit.
With a squeal of joy, Donna levered her opened twat up to meet his lapping tongue, using her hands to press his face down to her eager pussy. "Eat me! Eat me, love!" she groaned.
Purposefully, expertly, reveling in the womanly perfume that steamed up from his wife's thoroughly heated crotch, Brad used his thumbs to spread the heavy, puffy outer lips as wide as they would go.
The wet petals of pink flesh that made the sweet rosette of her inner labia were still engorged with blood. The pink valley ran down to the ringed portal to her vagina, just a bit more open than in repose, thanks to the smashing orgasm of a few moments before. Her momentarily sated inner heat had created a tiny overflow of her clear come-juices and this flow had spread to make a small circle of slickness on either side of and had trickled now between, her ass cheeks.
At the top of the slit, still pulsing feebly, but softened by her coming, her clitoris begged for a kiss.
Brad sank his face into his nest of heat and love and his long tongue, delving first into the opening of her cunt, licked strongly up along the quivering lips, lightly touched her suddenly aroused clit, just before he closed his mouth on this wildly sensitive bud, sucking it into a crazy fire of lust, sucking up also the sweetly fragrant juice his tongue had gathered. Donnas' clitoris, tender from the first fuck, sprang to rigid life under this loving assault, sending waves of sensation throughout her heaving belly.
It was a part of their luck that they both enjoyed sex so much, that their desire and understanding had broadened this life of theirs through the delights of swapping, now in the past.
"We'll have to be enough for each other when we get to the big town," Brad had said to her as they drove down to Santa Vaca, his right hand lying between her thighs, his middle finger gently pushing between the fat lips of her pussy. "No swapping until we're absolutely certain that it's safe!"
Donna had pushed his hand deeper, shivering as his finger raked along delicate membranes. "I know, darling," she said. "And it's completely all right with me! You've always been enough for me. The swinging was fun; it was thrilling and hot, but I never did need other people to stir me up or cool me down and I don't think you did, either!"
Brad laughed in relief. "Maybe we'll stay pure forever," he teased. "In big companies, management keeps an eye on everything you do. That is, if you're an executive-even a junior executive!"
He laughed again to make it evident that he was only kidding, that he didn't take himself or his new job all that seriously. But Donna knew better.
Under that lightness, there was a fierce ambition to succeed, a burning desire to make a big mark in the world. A real up-and-coming young man, her Brad. And Donna loved him for it.
Swapping had been crazy fun, bringing an aphrodisiac intensity to the second year of their marriage, just when a lot of young couples were normally slowing down.
"Put a bean in a jar every time you fuck in the first year," her older sister had teased her, "and then, take one out every time you do it after that. It'll probably take five years to empty the jar!" But it hadn't been that way with them. Somehow, once they had started swapping, getting into it more or less by chance as two of their best friends eased them into the swinging scene, they seemed to want each other with an added desire. And the more they broadened the horizons of their sex lives, the more they extended their capacities for sex, for love, for understanding.
When they first discussed the move to Santa Vaca, they had talked about meeting new people, possibly wiser and wilder than their swapping friends in Citrus City. What fun they would have! Maybe then, Brad had kidded her, Donna might give him her third and last virginity-her tight little rosebud of an anus. She slapped at him, laughing in spite of herself.
"If anyone ever gets it, it'll have to be someone with a smaller prick than yours," she had shuddered, giving his big cock a loving stroke. "You'd tear me wide-open!"
It had been a recurring subject with Brad, ever since someone-one of the boys-had proposed it at one of their earlier swapping parties, with all the girls indignantly vetoing it. Quite naturally, too, Donna had felt, although she hadn't argued it out with Brad. True, it was a thrilling experience to have him push his finger up into her ass when they were fucking. It hurt just a little, but it was exciting. But take that gigantic thing up into her soft and tender bowels? Never! No way! Forget it!
At least, Donna thought with a secret giggle, when they got old and gray and Brad needed something really new to help him get it up, she'd still have that one particular cherry to give him.
So, they agreed that there wouldn't be any swapping. Maybe for a while, maybe for a long time. If Brad wanted it that way, that was fine with Donna. She wasn't about to want anything that might ever mess up Brad's career. "And if you ever feel you simply have to have some new pussy," she had joked, "I can always buy a blonde wig!"
And all that had happened since then made her all the more determined to follow Brad's program-to do all those things that would hasten his progress, to refrain from anything that might keep him from reaching the heights.
Donna was so tiny, so perfect, that she was almost like a miniature woman, Brad often said. Barely five feet tall, she lacked any of the figure defects which often make small women sexy without being beautiful. Her breasts, for example, were not large, but they were in perfect proportion to the rest of her lovely body. She exactly filled a thirty-two B-cup bra and each of those delightfully resilient mounds was proudly up-tilted, with unusually large nipples surrounded by circular patch of brown, puckered, highly sensitive flesh.
In spite of the old saying: Big woman, big pussy; little woman, all pussy. Donnas' cunt was tiny, needing all her hot slickness to ease Brad's-or anyone else's-entry into its hot confines.
His tongue, so wise in the ways of love, stabbed into this tiny spasming orifice, its caresses sending pin wheeling spirals of lust tingling through her belly.
"Ohhhh! Oooooh! Brad, baby! I'm-" her voice trailed off into animal sounds as she came again, forcing a new flow of her come-juice from her, to course down into the crack of her ass, along her thighs and over Brad's cheeks and chin.
With a chuckle of satisfaction, Brad pushed himself up, one big hand covering Donnas' entire cuntal area as he leaned above her, his smile teasing, his eyes full of love. Carefully, avoiding a direct touch of her oversensitive clitoris, he massaged her fat, cushiony mons, enjoying the dry springiness of her pubic hair, untouched by the welling of her come-fluids, which had pumped down in her two previous orgasms.
Donna reached up and pulled his head down to her face, rolling her head slightly as her lips closed over his, her hot tongue, just recovering its hardness, challenging his. She loved the richness of the taste and smell that came from her cunt. Now, remembering the drying slickness of his prick, she rose on one elbow and nuzzled down, finding that his penis, as hard as when he had fucked her, maintained its rigidity by his joy in eating her pussy.
With a happy little gurgle of pleasure, she mouthed the big roll of meat, running her tongue along its underside, picking up the drop or two of pre coital fluid oozing from the slit of his glands. His big come, still charging his balls, was somewhere down inside him. She would soon have it.
She put her small hand on his chest, coaxing him down on his back, anxious now that he should have his share of pleasure with the least possible exertion. After all, he must soon go to his office and while a morning fuck was the wine of life to both of them, there was no sense in wasting his energy. Furthermore, Brad loved to pop his nuts in her mouth, jamming the spurting head deep into her throat while her tongue-play and suction milked him with such excruciating delight.
She leaned a part of her weight across his belly, braced on one elbow, her breasts teasingly in contact with his firm, smooth skin.
Absorbed with the strong, hard column sheathed in the softest skin on his body, her mouth drooling for the feel and taste of this moving monster, she could picture the sweet expectancy on his face as he lay relaxed, waiting for this treat. Once more, she was partly on her side, her lovely ass alongside his rib cage, so that, by merely directing his eyes a bit to the right, he could see her pussy protruding out between her buttocks. Now, though, he would not need to open its hairy lips to insert his fingers.
Super-hot from what had just happened, the lovely little cunt was open and inviting, its pink lips gleaming, her flow of love syrup tracing a wet path down the soft roundness of her left ass cheek.
For just one brief moment they were quite still, until Brad, his will power exhausted, put a strong hand on the back of her dark head and pushed. Simultaneously came his whisper, "Suck me, baby! Suck me hard!"
Her mouth had been open as she licked her lips in anticipation and they closed lovingly as Brad's push sent her mouth right down onto the slick head, so distended with blood-heat that it filled her mouth completely.
With a moan of lust, she thrust hard, forcing the big cock deep into her throat, past her soft palate, past her tonsils, so that his pubic hairs, matted with her orgasm, tickled her nose. She swallowed convulsively, her strong throat muscles giving a hard massage to the sensitive glands.
It wasn't a learned trick with Donna, but some true gift which she had put into play unconsciously the first time they'd tried it.
They were both nobodies in high school. Brad, because he was needed after school to work in his father's newspaper office, had never earned a letter in athletics nor been a star in any other extracurricular activities; Donna, because she was still a freshman, a skinny kid with no boobs, pipe-stem legs and nothing to recommend her except her big dark eyes, startlingly large in her thin face. But she had, somehow, recognized the drive and the courage in the big senior and showed, by tagging after him and offering her help in his chores, that she adored him.
It had begun almost as a joke. Riding with him as he tossed out bundles of papers for the carriers, she had made some solemn observation about sex. Something like, "I don't care what they say-I think that if a boy and girl are mature enough to know what they want, they have a right to do what they want."
Brad, with a few minutes of time on his hands, had driven onto a dirt road between orange groves and had said, not unkindly, "What have you got to offer in the way of maturity?"
To his everlasting surprise, she had kissed him then, ramming her girlish tongue deep into his mouth, and perhaps through blind luck, grabbing his zipper with her tiny hands and exposing a prick suddenly grown hard.
Brad, whose experience in sex matters was hardly more than her own, was shocked out of his skin as she threw herself down on it, looked up at him only enough to grin impishly and lick her lips and taken the entire length of it into her throat. He had heard of such things, but never had experienced "getting his dickie licked," as the more astute boys in school described it.
His first emotion was one of remorse and revulsion, but the rich feeling of a girl's wet mouth on his boyishly throbbing cock had dispelled such thoughts immediately and for the first time in his seventeen years, he shot his load into the throat of a skinny, undeveloped fourteen-year-old girl.
Oh, that wasn't all of it, by any means. That very night, still in the little pickup truck, he had fucked her, gently of course, as he learned that she was a virgin. Then, after he had torn her maidenhead, he had rammed into her savagely in a flood of his semen and her virgin blood and come-juice. And their love grew as they tried new ways to please and surprise each other.
But never did he forget the native talent she had in her throat and lips and tongue and which she had displayed on that very first occasion-on that still, hot summer day with dust motes dancing in the slanting sun rays coming between the orange trees, the heavy scent of the orange blossoms mixing with the hot perfume of lust coming up from their hot juvenile loins.
In their new bed, gratefully feeling Brad's fingers slip into her writhing twat, Donna sucked him now with loving care, knowing from long experience just how near he was to coming.
Her happiness was complete. Almost.
In fact, they both had much to be thankful for, quite aside from their love, which was being so stormily expressed in the big bed. And most of it was directly connected to the new job and to the man Brad looked on as their benefactor, Bill Derwin.
First, of course, there was the fat salary. Used to the starvation wages customary in small-town newspapers, its size awed them both. And Derwin, unusually open for a rich boss, had told Brad that this was only a start.
"You've got what I want, Brad," he had said. "Ninety per cent of your public relations work is with newspapers; that's how it is in real estate. And you write well; you know newspapermen and can talk their language. You also know the real estate business. I'm not overpaying you. And Donna fits right in with a lot of plans I have for all of us. You're both right for membership in the Bonturat family!"
Every time he thought of those words, Brad shivered with the lust of a fine hunting dog on the trail of game. There were three major divisions in Bonturat: real estate, industrial and financial. Each had its public relations manager. And above all three of these managers, in a huge, luxurious office, there was Max McGillah, the director of public relations. It was his job that Brad dreamed about-when he had spare time in which to dream, which wasn't often.
Thirty-five thou a year! And nothing much to do, as long as he had self-sufficient, hard-working guys like Brad in real estate, the knowledgeable Tom Sorden in industry and Larry Menas, the pale, quiet genius with figures who handled PR for Derwin's complex financial division.
Brad thought of himself in that office. Director! What a title! And all that went with it: three-hour martini lunches with publishers and television station owners; not having to check in every hour when you were out, like some damned clock-punching shipping clerk, and most exciting of all, an executive secretary, one that you screened for yourself, seeing that she passed your every requirement for the job-including fucking! Or at least that was the joking whisper around the office. Brad believed it.
It was Maida Vail, the gorgeous tawny-blonde kid who did Brad's typing, took his infrequent dictation and answered the telephone in his office, who had started Brad to wising up. She was only nineteen and as lush as an earth goddess-big, firm boobs that never knew the confinement of a bra; a shapely, generous ass that jiggled temptingly under her short, tight sheath dresses; gorgeous legs; a wide, smiling, sensuous mouth; merry green eyes that seemed to look right through your slacks to your cock. But she was not, she told Brad firmly, his to feel, to fool with.
"I'm your personal secretary," she had said, "not an executive secretary!"
"What's the difference?" he had blurted and Maida had laughed, patting him on the cheek.
"Well," she whispered, "they tell me that one difference is the money. A personal secretary makes five-fifty a month; an executive secretary gets eight hundred and up. And the other difference... " she rolled her eyes mysteriously "... an executive secretary belongs to the executive!"
Brad had laughed. She had to be kidding. Still, there was that voluptuous, slinky brunette that worked for McGillah. He had heard her kidding with Maida at the water cooler a day or so later.
"You look pooped," Maida had said. "Working late in the office again?"
And the brunette-her name was Alice something-had winked and said; "Yes and the older Max gets, the harder it gets. The work, I mean, not Maxie!"
Maida had a funny way of pronouncing the firm name, too. Part of the time, that is. "Bon-twat" she called it, instead of "Bonturat".
When he had asked her about her and Alice and their joking, she had replied, "When you become a part of Bon-Twat and the Bon-twat family, every part of you becomes a part of Bon-twat!"
He was frankly puzzled. "Why do you call it Bon-twat?" he had asked. "Sounds like you're kidding the firm."
She had come close to him then, putting a hand on his arm, looking at him closely. "Don't mind me, Brad," she had said. "It's just a little joke of my own. You're so sweet and serious, but maybe you'll get to be a big man here. And maybe, if you have any late work, I could stay late and practice being an executive secretary!"
There was a lot to look forward to, in Bonturat. Like one of those Bonturat family parties. He was becoming more and more anxious to be invited to one.
But Donna, so enthusiastic about it when he first mentioned such a party, now didn't seem to like the idea at all.
"Not unless it's a big office party," she had said, surprising him completely. "Not if it's just you and me and Bill Derwin and another girl or two."
What in the hell had gotten into Donna?
One thing that had gotten into Donna, just a few moments ago, was Brad's cock, so filled with desire and sensation that his come-trigger, deep in his body, was about to trip.
It was alternately between her tongue, cheeks and lips and plunged deep into her swallowing throat as she gave him her fullest love treatment. Its nerves, close to their ultimate in sensation all the time he had fucked her from behind and sucked her sweet pussy, were taut with expectancy.
The two fingers he had forced into her streaming cunt-and they were stretching it painfully but pleasurably, he knew-were being savagely clamped as her strong young vaginal muscles gripped them. His entire forearm was bathed in the beautiful come-juice which now seemed to pump out with her heartbeats, almost like his own jets of jism which were slowly, surely gathering in his strained seminal reservoirs.
The head of his cock struck once more against her palate, against the back wall of her throat, in a burst of lust which blinded him to everything except the frantic sensations in his prick and his seed, pouring up in spasmodic jets from his balls, filled her mouth with its rich slickness, sucked into her belly by her love, by its fulfillment, by her awareness of her needs as well as his. And her tight and grasping little pussy, relieved and sated, slowly relaxed around his fingers, giving them a final, sweet, fluttering kiss.
It was time for Donna to make Brad's breakfast. He might have a hard day.
The shiny new Buick, the plush Electra model, furnished by Bonturat, naturally, stood in the driveway as Brad hurriedly wolfed down a small sirloin, two eggs and a couple of rolls.
"I've got to keep my big man in shape," Donna had said, smiling up from his hug, giving a last loving feel to his prick, which was still large enough to make a respectable bulge in his soft gray slacks.
She held her light robe together as she waved to him, proud of his good looks, his assurance. She knew how proud he was of that Buick, even if it was a company car. Their five-year-old Chevy wagon, shining with her own loving care, was in the big triple garage.
When he got McGillah's job-or rather, when McGillah quit or was promoted (she didn't like to think of Brad "getting" the older man's job)-that Buick would be gone and a Cadillac would stand in its place.
The weight of her hands across her breasts, still sensitized from her wild morning of sex, awakened a minor wavelet of heat in her loins. She closed the big front door, no longer holding the robe closed, smiling down at her firm and lovely breasts.
This was happiness, she told herself. More than even her ambitious young husband had ever dreamed. He would be a big executive, a real executive someday. She didn't really want the bigger salary-they had more than they needed. She didn't want a bigger house-this one was plenty. She did, however, want the Cadillac, because that was what Brad wanted. And she would get it for him-even if she had to fuck Bill Derwin, which she felt she would have to do. The thought, plainly stated in her own mind for the first time, terrified her. It was the only flaw in her overpowering sense of well-being.
She shuddered, but the sense of itching heat in her cunt built higher.